


Morceaux des miroirs

by JustAMus



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Gore, Heavy BDSM, M/M, Mindfuck, PTSD, Psychological Torture, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Torture, War Crimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 07:01:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAMus/pseuds/JustAMus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Spies are reflections in a broken mirror, and find absolution in screams.</p><p> </p><p>Trigger warnings: Gore, torture, war crimes, PTSD, significant blasphemy (Catholic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morceaux des miroirs

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Taciturn Assassin, in the TF2Chan Secret Santa exchange 2012.
> 
> Prompt provided: Spycest, Red spy can only get off on giving pain, and even though Blu spy doesn’t really like getting hurt, he keeps going to rendezvous after rendezvous in the hope of the small kindness of maybe a handjob or something after Red’s done with all his sadistic stuff. After all, he’s the only one for miles that’s willing to touch Blu, so he’s gotta take what’s available.
> 
> Many thanks to Cyan, Maelgwyn, and Cosmic Tuesdays for their help, advice, and support.
> 
> Trigger warnings: Gore, torture, war crimes, PTSD, significant blasphemy (Catholic)

“The truth is important to have when one plans to lie. Self knowledge is vital to one who makes a living by deception. It is not impossible to look into your own eyes and lie, however. But it is impossible to hide from your own gaze.” The tone was light, companionable, as if merely discussing the weather for Candlemas. The Red Spy dropped his spent cigarette, grinding out the butt with an offhand swivel of one narrow foot. His eyes were deep and opaque, horrible in their brittle familiarity.

The ropes creaked under the Blu Spy’s weight, echoing in the disused storeroom. The bulb hanging from its single wire silhouetted the itchy halo of fraying hemp looped around the overhead beam, almost too tight on his lean frame and digging into his shoulders. It was an awkward enough position, he reflected, being suspended naked in a modified hogtie, ankles bound and knees frog-splayed. But in the dispassionate regard of the Red Spy, gooseflesh rose to stipple skin unaccustomed to exposure, his hackles rising in vain.

He knew very well that immured deep in the bowels of the RED base, under the guise of interrogation, any hope of rescue was pointless. But that was not why he was here yet again, week after week. Red walked a tight arc around him, mouth tight with loathing, inspecting closely for Blu knew not what. Ambient dread began to dry his mouth. Red’s silent footfalls began to wear as the seconds ticked away. What would it be this time?

Red stopped, and smiled. A familiar smile, nostalgic and almost fond as he cocked his head, that never reached his eyes. “It was cold that day, too, in the mountains. “ His accent slid, the mellifluous Parisian French taking on the singsong-inflected flavour Blu would never forget. “November, nineteen fifty-three. When they sent us to take the valley.”

Blu’s pupils constricted painfully, tears spilling from his closing eyes. His head drooped in resigned acquiescence. It was to be this, here and now, it seemed. Red leaned in to whisper directly into his ear. “And you remember what you did, don’t you? To that little Viet Minh scout, who wouldn’t talk? Maybe you forgot. Let me help you remember how you helped l’Adjutant-Chef with the finer details, oui?”

Blu squeezed his eyes more tightly shut, the slithering clink as Red slid his belt out of its loops suddenly loud in the dry air. The first blow was always the hardest, the stripe painted on the sole of his foot blooming in flame. It didn’t stop there. It never did. Red plied the doubled leather strap with an all too familiar meticulous care, flesh and small bones of feet and ankles crackling and pulping under the makeshift bastinado like hatchlings in a cat’s jaws. He no longer tried to hold back his screams these days, the ululating tearing his throat raw, back arched in a bow and ligaments stretched to humming.

With a careless twist of his wrist, Red flipped the belt around to expose the brass buckle, then resumed, marching his blows up the sides of the writhing Blu. The angled metal tongue tore at the flesh over his ribs, smearing it to cling in skeins and strands, coating the rough hemp in thick crimson, and exposing the bony palisade in places.

When Red eventually stopped, barely winded, he dropped the belt carelessly on the ground with a clink where it coiled stickily, dark and slippery with blood and more. He flexed his elbow and brushed at stray droplets on his jacket with a glittering, contemptuous smile, turning to cup Blu’s panting face with one gloved hand. “Why, are you crying, mon vieux? Is this regret? ” Blu’s swollen eyes cracked open as Red wiped his face and mask dry of tears and snot, careless of the fine calfskin. Red’s lips pursed in a mock moue of surprise. “After all, you were only following orders, were you not?” That last was spoken in a whisper, vicious as a slap.

“I – N-non – “ His throat and mouth were dry, lips split and bitten through from screaming. It was not enough, it was never enough.

“Hush, petit. You can make penance, as of old. “ Rustle of fabric and the rasp of a zip, before Red unceremoniously fed his heavy erection between Blu's battered lips, gloved hands cradling his head almost tenderly, a familiar careful grip about the jaw so he could not bite down. “Now,” came the silkily blasphemous whisper, “time to take communion. “ Red’s thick hot flesh slid deeper into his mouth, embraced by his swollen tongue, filling his head with the scent of salty copper and musk. Without warning, he began to thrust roughly, hard and deep, heedless of Blu’s chokes and struggles, hands strong as iron using him as nothing more than a means to an end. He flailed and gagged, tears streaming now from the pain of having his throat forced open, lips rubbed raw on coarse pubic hair.

With a muffled hiss, the Red Spy climaxed, flooding Blu's mouth and throat with scalding bitterness, pulling out violently to spray the last rivulets on his slack face with a sneer. As Blu coughed and spluttered, Red wiped his softening cock off on the crown of Blu’s mask, wryly murmuring, “Do this in remembrance of us,” before tucking himself neatly away. He stepped back and lit a cigarette, wordlessly looking over the wrecked corpus hanging limply in the nest of ropes, hide slick with stripes and spatters of crimson. Blu’s twitching eased after long minutes. His breathing remained harsh and rasping, the agony receding to an omnipresent fog as his lids lowered.

Red stepped forward, casually stubbing the cigarette out on Blu’s forehead. The searing pain woke him out of his daze and he jerked, eyes snapping open with a soundless howl. “Tch, such a mess.” Red locked gazes with the other man, pulling out his balisong. “Let’s get you down from there.” With strong, swift strokes, he slashed through the ropes keeping Blu aloft. The battered Spy crashed to the unforgiving stone flags with a high whine of agony, blacking out from the pain.

+++

When he came to, Blu lifted his head weakly to see Red sitting on the floor, back to the opposite wall. Red smiled. “Ah, so you are awake. Come, sit with me. You have done well, mon vieux, and should be rewarded. “ He peeled off his gloves, and spread his arms wide open in welcome. “Come to me. “ The hint of iron in his tone brooked no argument, and the hapless Blu began to crawl on his hands and knees. It was only a mere few metres’ distance, but every bump and scrape on his pulverised feet sent him to convulsing in agony. He desperately tried to lift his brutalised extremities up as he inched across the rough stone flags, trying not to slip in his own drying fluids, even as his ruined legs left a wavering ribboned trail across the floor. Several times, the crushed bone ends ground together despite his best efforts, and he screamed wet and shrill before continuing on his clawed, numb fingers. Awkwardly, he lurched to curl crabbed on his back, panting shallowly, next to Red, who carefully slid a comforting arm around his shoulders, rocking him gently like a child in a cradle.

Blu gazed up at Red, numbly gazing into the same face he saw every day in the mirror, mesmerised like a bird before a snake. The clothed man stroked his battered face gently, stroking the bruises and rope burns on his torso. “I know, I know, “ murmured Red soothingly. “Never forget that I am you. We share the memories. Whatever they have done, I have seen what you have done, I know what you want, I know what you need. “ The slow strokes turned to caresses, the long fingers toying with Blu’s nipples, pinching and pulling and rubbing.

“You have done well, paid for this in full. “ One hand slid lower, gently rubbing at the naked man’s groin, encouraging the burgeoning erection. Blu’s eyes closed; he relaxed, surrendering to the mingled agony and pleasure as Red began to caress his cock, stroking it firmly with a gently quickening rhythm. The stirring sparks of sensation seemed to make the omnipresent pain of his injuries recede somewhat, and he moaned softly, his hips rocking into the other man’s attentions. “Time for sweetness now, non?”

Red stirred, pulling himself tightly against Blu’s nude flank. “You need this. You need me. And I will be here, every time. To give you absolution. “ His mouth descended on Blu’s swollen lips, hungrily drinking in his soft moans as his hand sped up, slicking the hard shaft with precum and sweat, licking heedlessly as Blu’s split lip started to bleed afresh. Blu struggled weakly in the embrace, whining in discomfort and need as the tension built deep in his abdomen, his nipples pinkly erect in the wan glow of the light above. Red’s fingers slid to the base of the shaft and squeezed sharply, driving back the impending orgasm, before resuming his stroking. The naked Spy whimpered in frustration and need, his pleasure magnified as Red tugged firmly at foreskin and scrotum, showering Blu’s bruised face and neck in yearning kisses like butterfly wings.

When Blu’s orgasm finally crested, it would not be denied, and the naked Spy cried out, cum spurting out in an arc to patter on the drab stone floor. In that very moment, a line of ice drew across his throat as Red bore down with his balisong in one swift, economical movement. His vision dimming, the last thing he heard before Respawn took him was Red’s reverent murmur as he kissed the blade.

“Go forth, and sin no more.”

+++

 

Blu stumbled out of the Respawn room, catching himself from an almost-fall onto legs no longer ruined. His heart was racing as he patted himself down, the echoes of his recent injuries hanging as dreams do on waking, to tatter like ghosts in the morning. As had become his habit in recent weeks, he rushed to his quarters, to strip shakily before the mirror to inspect his nude form closely.

What he saw was wholely familiar, each scar and mark traced with a fingertip and tallied under his breath. He did not know what it was he was looking for, only that it was vital that the ritual be adhered to. He unconsciously rubbed his palms down bare thighs over and over again, feeling the phantom stickiness of drying blood that had long since vanished. The aftermath of the agony and the succeeding juddering orgasm had left him lightheaded and hollow-feeling, a strange, spent, emotional quietude. He knew he would sleep deeply and dreamlessly that night.

He wondered, and not for the first time, why he and his opposite number felt compelled to return again and again to the tiny, cold room. It had started simply out of loneliness and desperation to scratch an itch, and become something dark and shining, phosphorescent roots deep into places he dared not look. He did not question the hows of the roles they found themselves in, only the whys – they seemed unvarying, despite the various permutations of fleshly suffering. He had been garrotted with barbed wire, drowned in battery acid, electrocuted, raped with bamboo spears, drawn and quartered, and everything in between. The whys returned faithfully with each dawn.

Unless — some day far from now, his brother-self expected him to return the favour. As he tasted the idea carefully, it occurred to him that he strangely did not find it horrific, but rather beautiful in its terrible symmetry.


End file.
